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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28393836">Paternally</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairmanor/pseuds/fairmanor'>fairmanor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>My Two Boys [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comforting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Reunions, Fitting In, Heteronormativity, Insecurity, M/M, Talking, common ground, david &amp; clint, father-in-law, father-son bonding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:14:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,055</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28393836</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairmanor/pseuds/fairmanor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Both feeling overwhelmed at a Brewer family reunion, David and Clint find some solace and advice in each other.</p><p>There simply aren’t enough fics with David and Clint bonding, so here’s one. Hope you enjoy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>My Two Boys [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079489</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>300</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Paternally</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey! I never expected to do a sort-of sequel to Good Hands, but I just feel like I never see any fics with David and Clint having a proper chat and I wondered why that might be, and thus this fic was born. Thanks to justwaiting23 for the inspiration in our conversation about Clint and David's possible mutual interests the other day!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Patrick’s reassuring hand lets go of David’s knee for the last time and is set back on the wheel for the rest of their trip, the spot feels cold for the remainder of the three hours. He would keep on venting so that Patrick can keep bringing his hand to David’s leg and squeezing gently, listening to him as he tries to work out how he’s feeling, but he really can’t be bothered to keep talking about it. Anyway, he’s reached the end of his string of feelings and hit a knot that he doesn’t know how to verbalise.</p><p>So for the rest of the trip to the Brewer’s annual family barbecue, David is silent. This is the fourth time he’s gone home with Patrick since he came out to his parents; once before they were engaged, and twice after. The fact that David is starting to recognise the twists and turns in the smooth, pine tree-lined road sets off something solid and warm inside him. There’s another home being carved out on this newly familiar trail, all introductions and holidays and leftovers taken home in plastic boxes being packed around the pillars of David’s mended heart.</p><p>But right now, it’s hard to picture. Because this trail becoming familiar means he’s becoming familiar to the people at the end of it. There’s a static, solid image of him in their heads, from Marcy and Clint to the littlest Brewer cousin, and being static is something David Rose always had a problem with. In New York he’d use his gallery as an outlet to reinvent himself every other week, scouring the reviews for any mention of praise for the owner and reminding himself scarily of his mother. He’d brought it up to her casually a few months ago when they were talking about how difficult it is to fully enjoy their wardrobes like they used to.</p><p>“People such as you and I were not meant to have one face, David,” Moira had told him, sat among her many wigs. “Pioneers of couture must keep themselves unpredictable.”</p><p>He blinks, and suddenly the pine trees are gone. They’ve cleared away into Patrick’s beautiful little picketed hometown. At this time of the year, the wild apple trees are ripening and there’s a perpetual scent of grilled meat clinging onto the back of the wind.</p><p>“We’re here,” Patrick says gently to neither of them in particular as he pulls into the driveway.</p><p>As David had predicted, Marcy and Clint are already in the doorway, beaming wider than he’s ever seen them. Patrick smiles too as he gets out of the car, letting his mother fold her into his arms.</p><p>David is calmed a little by the sight of his future in-laws. He gets out of the car and approaches them, grabbing Clint’s hand and enduring the firm shake that’s just on the wrong side of painful. David knows Clint isn’t much of a hugger with people he doesn’t know awfully well, but <em>God</em>, his grip could crush a watermelon.</p><p>Then he hears the clatter and racket of the big Brewer troupe inside the house, and David’s stomach churns again.</p><p>“Are you alright, David? You’re looking a bit peaky,” Marcy says, cupping David’s face in her hands.</p><p>David dredges up a smile. “I’m alright, just had a long journey.”</p><p>Marcy pats him on the cheek. “You boys go and get yourselves settled, I’ll find you some aspirin.”</p><p>Patrick offers to take David’s bag up the stairs. He has a small, comforting smile on his face that David has come to learn means he’s going to hold him extra tightly tonight.</p><p>It’s not that David doesn’t like Patrick’s family. No, it’s not that at all. He already knows he loves Marcy and Clint, and he spent half a day the last weekend he was here baking cookies with four cousin’s children. He even gritted his teeth and let them sprinkle some edible silver cake toppers into his hair.</p><p>It’s just that he can’t help but wonder who he is to them. They spent so long, <em>fifteen years, </em>with a Patrick-and-Rachel-shaped entity nestled so firmly in the backs of their minds that they probably didn’t even think about it anymore. Rachel will have probably written these barbecues into her calendar out of habit even when they were broken up. He’s incredibly relieved that the rest of Patrick’s family have been just as supportive as his parents about his sexuality and his relationship, but sometimes David fights against the feeling that he’s being selfish and lets himself worry about what they all think of him.</p><p>Every time he’s interacted with the extended family, it’s transpired like some unspoken agreement that he sits and talks to Marcy and her sisters while Patrick grabs a beer outside with his cousins. Of course, he wouldn’t necessarily get invested in Patrick’s conversations about sports and whatever else, but there’s just something about the way the elder Brewer ladies fuss and gossip with him that makes him think a little too hard about the position they view him to be in. Whether he’s just <em>the new Rachel,</em> so of <em>course</em> he sits in her seat and talks about the same things she would have. Whether they think there’s a “man” and a “woman” in their relationship, and Patrick has been the former for so long that the latter was assumed before David even stepped through the door.</p><p>The cycle of insecurity, uncertainty, then the inevitable guilt of feeling this way about whom David knows to be lovely people continues well into the afternoon, until David can barely take the stifling atmosphere of the room. He closes his hand over the back of Patrick’s to say <em>don’t worry about me, but I just can’t be here right now, </em>and Patrick turns his hand around and laces his fingers through David’s briefly to say <em>okay, do what you need, I love you </em>without moving away from his conversation. David weaves through the Brewer’s huge living room just as the usual two parties are separating away; sisters to the dining room, brothers to the yard.</p><p>David heads up the stairs slowly. He’s intending to go to Patrick’s old bedroom to lie down for a bit or maybe call Stevie, but he’s distracted by faint music. It’s quiet but rich with a faint crackle to it, like it’s coming from a vinyl.</p><p>He turns on his heel and walks the length of the hallway, where a door at the very end is slightly ajar. He peers through the crack and catches sight of a dark green sweater and brown polka-dot collar. Relaxing slightly, he opens the door a little more. Clint is stood with his hands behind his back, staring out of the window contentedly. What sounds like an original edition of Simon &amp; Garfunkel’s <em>April Come She Will </em>is drifting gently from the vinyl, and Clint is tapping his toe slowly to no beat in particular.</p><p>“I can see where Patrick gets his music taste from,” David says.</p><p>Clint sucks in a sharp, surprised breath and turns around, his hand on his chest. He laughs when he sees David stood there sheepishly.</p><p>“David! I thought my record had bugged out for a second,” he jokes.</p><p>“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you!” David says, backing out of the room. Clint stops him with two upturned palms as he comes closer to the door.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it, son, you can stay. I’m just not used to people coming in here.”</p><p>David closes the door gently behind him and looks around at the room that’s clearly Clint’s haven. The back wall looks like it’s practically made of books; shelves upon shelves of classics and newer biographies, with the ones that don’t fit stacked in precariously high piles on the floor. The wall opposite is the same but with records. David’s curated interior eye can see that they’re organised by year, then artist’s surname in alphabetical order, then <em>color. </em>There’s an old curly map on another wall, a big globe in the middle, a telescope by the window.</p><p>“It’s beautiful in here,” David says, stepping further into the room and spotting a calligraphy set and a model train. It’s like a treasure trove of Clint’s mind in here.</p><p>Clint chuckles. “It’s my pride and joy, this place,” he says, gesturing around. “I’ve got all my hobbies in here, things my great-grandfather owned, everything.” His gaze upon David changes, and it’s as though he can suddenly sense something is out of place. “Would you care to sit down?”</p><p>David twists his mouth to the side and nods, manoeuvring around the contraptions and gadgets to the little armchairs at either side of the window. From here, David can see the fields that stretch well past the Brewer’s house, the rays of sun that settle atop each one. He can also see his fiancé, currently being tackled to the ground by a teenage cousin, and smiles.</p><p> “Having a few thoughts about being here?” Clint says calmly, his eyes trained on the same view.</p><p>“You could say that, yeah,” David says. He’s a little nervous, talking about this with his father-in-law. There are so many ways he could speak out of turn, or – even worse – have Clint say something that reaffirms the fears that plagued him for the entire car journey.</p><p>What he does say, in fact, is something David’s not expecting.</p><p>“I know how you feel. Well, not <em>exactly </em>how you feel, I imagine,” he adds, waving an apologetic hand, “but this was all new to me too back when I first married Marcy and we started hosting these big barbecues.”</p><p>David frowns. “Really?”</p><p>It’s a difficult image to conjure: strong, solid Clint Brewer, designated driver and fixer of bike wheels, feeling out of place in a neighborhood like this.</p><p>Clint nods. “I grew up in Shaughnessy.”</p><p>David tries not to make what he’s sure would have been a very embarrassing sound. He’d had friends from Shaughnessy at boarding school. He had stayed over at their massive houses.</p><p>All he can do is repeat “Shaughnessy” in a slightly strangled voice, and Clint nods and laughs awkwardly.</p><p>“Yup. My father helped found one of the first tech startups in the ‘60s, so you can imagine the novelty at the time. We were very comfortable.”</p><p>“You don’t have to answer, but…how did you end up here?”</p><p>David winces at his own question, expecting a story similar to his own, but Clint waves it all away like he’s brushing off the dust of his past.</p><p>“Oh, I hated it. I couldn’t stand having everything done for me, or the pressure to go to university. I love the culture of it all, but I was never an academic.”</p><p>David nods. As Clint talks about his transition from wealth to a little less than, David finds his own truths unravelling. The little knot he got stuck on in the car is coming loose.</p><p>“That’s one of the things I learned to find comforting about Schitt’s Creek,” he says. “There’s no more expectation. I felt like I was being spied on in New York, even if there was no one there.”</p><p>“Oh, it was the same for me. My father, God rest his soul, he could be a pushy man. He did love me and was proud of the things I did, but he always liked his plan for my life more than I did.”</p><p>David finds himself laughing, half from the shock of finding this unexpected similarity with Clint and half from the relief of hearing someone else say the things he could never find the words for.</p><p>“Even if I felt like this life suited me just fine, I worried that Marcy’s family wouldn’t take too kindly to me,” Clint continues. “Or even if they did, they would <em>assume</em> things, you know? Like that I should be providing better for the family, or holing myself away working on some financial nonsense job. No offence to our Patrick, heh.”</p><p>Outside, they’re pulling the grill out of the shed and donning their aprons.</p><p>“So what is it today?” Clint says, tilting his head. “Is there something else that’s making you overwhelmed?”</p><p>David sighs. “I mean, you’ve said a lot of it already. People assuming things.”</p><p>Clint nods but doesn’t say anything. He’s listening silently in a way that’s heartwarmingly reminiscent of Patrick, and it spurs David’s confidence.</p><p>“I guess I just don’t want people to assume that because I’m – I don’t know, that I carry my identity more openly than I suppose Patrick does, that I need to abide by some heteronormative role in the relationship. I know I do share more of Marcy and her sister’s interests, but that’s not the point. I just want to be seen as me<em>, </em>rather than someone stood in the place Rachel used to be. You know?”</p><p>David feels the string unravel completely in his head. His chest feels lighter. Perhaps untangling it had nothing to do with solving his problem, but rather just talking about it to someone who was willing to listen. And right now, he’s never been more glad to have that person be Clint Brewer.</p><p>“Yeah, I can understand that,” Clint says, nodding slowly. “It can be hard to introduce yourself when the people you’re trying to mingle with already think they know what you look like. But for the record, David, I hope you know how much this family loves you and how grateful we are that you’re a part of it. I can assure you that Marcy doesn’t see you as a replacement for what was. She knows you, and knows your interests, and we’ll both love and celebrate you in everything you ever choose to be and do.”</p><p>David was close to tears for the entirety of Clint’s speech, but it’s the “we’ll” that gets him the most. We <em>will. </em>A promise. A nod to the future.</p><p>He can’t manage more than what he hopes is a very loaded “thank you”, but he knows Clint understands. It’s Marcy and Patrick who are the talkative ones.</p><p>They chat for a while longer, matching up the rest of their interests. Clint tells David about the bottle of ’49 Châteauneuf-du-Pape his father used to have in their generous wine cellar, and David tells Clint about the way the light looks at it sets over the water in the Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden. David’s sure there will be more conversations like this to come as he gets to know his father-in-law over the course of a life or two, and the prospect of all these people knowing him better and seeing him doesn’t sit so heavy on his heart as it did this morning. After all, Patrick must have got his eye from somewhere.</p><p>Eventually, they agree to take themselves back to the throng of guests that they enjoy more than they admit and get themselves up out of their chairs. At the door, Clint seems to hesitate for a moment then holds out his arms to David. David feels a rush of warmth and steps in close, letting himself be enveloped in a hug that’s a lot gentler than his handshakes. A sure, solid man with an endearingly soft center, rather like someone else David knows.</p><p>“It was good to talk to you, son,” Clint says, and David’s arms press just a fraction tighter at the name.</p><p>They head downstairs, then outside once they realise everyone is circling the barbecue as the first load of burgers and sausages start to brown up. Patrick looks up from where he’s just thrown a ball to one of his cousin’s kids, smiles and walks up to David.</p><p>“I could see you in the window,” Patrick says softly, bringing his arms around David’s waist and kissing his shoulder. “Found the Dad Cave, did you?”</p><p>“Patrick, it’s not a <em>Dad Cave</em>,” Clint retorts for what sounds like the thousandth time.</p><p>Patrick just chuckles and buries his face into David’s neck. David wraps his arms around his fiancé’s shoulders and they sway a little to the live music coming from someone’s guitar at the bottom of the garden.</p><p>“Everything okay, husband?” Patrick murmurs. David scoffs gently at the nickname, but can’t keep himself from smiling.</p><p>“Mm, we’ve gotta wait a few more months for that,” he says, “but yes. I’m fine.”</p><p>Patrick shrugs. “Nah, I bet I can get you on the husband train a few months in advance. You’ll be saying it in no time. In fact, why don’t we just hop on over to the church across the road and get married there –”</p><p>“I think not,” David says, pressing a finger to Patrick’s lips. “Time to shush now.”</p><p>“I mean who needs a buffet, we have the barbecue right here –”</p><p>“Nope! No, I did not spend nine hours on Pinterest looking at food last Tuesday for you to throw it in my face like this.”</p><p>One of Patrick’s aunts, Katherine, comes over and smacks her nephew lightly on the arm. “Patrick, leave the poor guy alone!” Then she turns to David, a warm smile on her face that doesn’t look nearly as intimidating as David used to think. “Speaking of food, you never told me what you decided on for the starters. The link you sent me on Whatsapp didn’t work.”</p><p>And this time, as Katherine and the rest of her sisters listen intently about David’s plans for the wedding, he doesn’t let himself be dragged into it; he goes willingly. There’s a pressure that’s been lifted thanks to someone he is very quickly coming to view as a second father. They don’t expect anything from him, this big, beautiful family. They just get him. They understand him in a way that he’s never let anyone before, not this early into a bond. The sun is setting into a gentle late summer warmth, the scent of dinner is getting stronger on the air. David catches Clint’s eye from across the garden and they share a small smile. Clint winks and raises his glass, and David does the same.</p><p>David’s felt at home here before. Patrick made sure of that. But for the first time, the first proper time, he really feels the truth of it. He <em>knows</em> he has a home here, and always will.</p>
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